Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Tell me again how tomorrow is already December 1st? Fox Family's 25 Days of Christmas will be starting in less than twelve hours. I can hardly believe it. Last night as I was all bundled up waiting for the train after work, listening to the talented homeless man play "It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas" with a Jamaican twist on his sax, I had a "city" moment. A moment where I felt pretty cool to be a real city girl, just making my way in the world trying to sell my songs to big record companies while dancing on a bar in cowboy boots called the Coyote Ugly. Learning the hard way that you Can't Fight the Moonlight. It always happens anyway.

My "city" moment quickly diminished as the train pulled up and everybody started pushing and shoving to get on. I took a mouthful of coarse dreadlocks and an elbow to the back to get a spot, but I'll be damned I got on. It's funny to me to remember my old job and the tense "bell run" I used to encounter everyday around 3:15 when I would try to rush out of the school before the bell rang and the teens were let loose, of course this rarely even occurred given that I preferred to be done with work by 1:00. The 5:00 o'clock train run is nothing in comparison. Nothing. I can barely contain myself everyday past 4:30 p.m. just thinking of the rush. I'm already getting anxiety right now just thinking about it.

Chris and I were in the festive spirit last night and put up our tree. If you haven't seen my upload of it, I highly recommend doing so. It looks totally different from the other 500 Christmas tree photos on Facebook right now. Afterward we ventured outside to put lights on the fence. We (or me, as Chris might say) accidentally locked ourselves out of the house for a few minutes (45) and couldn't quite finish the job. It looks okay as it is, but the Clark Griswold inside me says it looks pathetic and could use about ten or so more strings of lights, colored and white. A few plastic figurines wouldn't hurt either. Maybe some of those reindeer that turn their head from side to side.

I'm just hoping the tree is still intact when we get home tonight. Harlow has been, well he's been acting up a bit lately. He was so good for the entire first year (besides the UTI's and STDs) and now within the past month he's just been a little asshole. I think he's just going through something right now, whatever it is he won't talk to me about it. Which is obviously killing me. First he started eating Chris's shoes, I think he's up to six pairs now. Then it was a pillow. Last week I even caught him with a pack of cigarettes in the backyard. No excuses for that kind of behavior in my home. I don't even know where they came from, the neighbors probably, but I sat outside with him and made him eat every last cigarette in the pack and look me straight in the eyes while doing so. Really taught him a lesson on that one. The final straw came last week when Chris left an envelope of money out for the dog walker on the bench and Harlow ate it. Well, he ripped up two $20 bills, didn't touch the $1 bills, and completely swallowed (I can only assume, only time will tell) a $5 bill. If he poops out three $1s and a $2 bill then I'll really be worried. I just don't know how to punish him. He always says it's not his fault, he's just caught in bad situations. Like "no, I didn't mean to curb stomp that other dog at the dog park, I just was trying to regain my balance." Yeah right, Harlow. We all saw the footage.

Time to head back to work. The heat is out today in the Wrigley so it's been a chilly morning. Hoping I"ll be able to finish the afternoon without wearing my parka and earmuffs. Muffs. What a funny name. Would love to see a comical story about earmuffs as told by the always too literal Amelia Bedelia.

Suicide Monday-- I'm Still Here Tuesday.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

I’m not so good at coming home from vacations. I get very depressed and angry at the world. No joke, I’ve been straight up pissed at every person/situation I've encountered since I left Cabo over 48 hours ago. The tan I worked so hard to get for seven days is already diminishing. I’m just freckled and peeling like a Ron Howard child now. My leggings are tight, it’s very humbling when elastic pants fight too tight. And by humbling I mean humiliating. It’s like wearing a pair of tight underwear, the elastic band leaving ridicule marks on your waist to ensure that even once you’ve taken them off you must still wear the mark of shame for a few more hours. I ate off every one of my “pretty” nails on the flight home, just gnawed away at them and then spit them in the flight attendants’ face as they walked by. What do I care. My life sucks. When I landed in America a fellow passenger so generously (glared at me as if I was stalling the entire plane from getting off on purpose) helped me get my bag from the overhead bin managing to drop it onto the floor breaking the gorgeous and very expensive pot I purchased on the beach for “twenty dolla? I give you for only twenty dollas,” “no, too expensive,” “okay, stop, stop, fifteen? You do fifteen?” “Ten or I walk.” So the beautiful hand crafted pot I purchased for $5 smashed in my bag thanks to the pushy people seated behind me who, like so many other passengers, seemed to be unaware of standard plane etiquette and thought that they would exit their seats before the people seated in rows ahead of them. No. That’s not how it works, one row goes then the next, so settle down Grandma, I don’t care if you require a wheelchair.

After I made it through customs, complaining the entire way about my awesome Mexican pot that was of no use to me now thanks to the idiot passenger behind me, I braced myself for a good old fashioned airport binge. I don’t care what anyone says, airport food is the best food there is. When I get married someday I’m going to have it catered by an airport. Salty trail mix for an appetizer, pizza as a side dish, a hamburger as a main course, maybe some Chinese, a little bit of spinach dip and chicken wings, TCBY and Rolos for dessert, then California Pizza Kitchen & Chilis To-Go as a late night snack. I munched on my burger and fries and people-watched as I sat at a lonely table-for-one. Who was just going on vacation and who was getting home?

Couples happily conversing: just going.
Couples conversing, but in tones such as- “why aren’t you listening to me? You never listen to me.” “Do you not see I’m watching the game? I have to see what Tebow does. Can you just chill out for just a minute?” : coming home.
Girls with makeup on: just going.
Girls looking like shit: coming home.
Wine drinkers: just going.
Vodka drinkers: coming home.
Adults with children: coming home. No one purposely arrives early for a flight with they’re towing along a couple of ugly eight-year-olds.

These are all just observations, of course. Observations from a "lastnight’s makeup hair in a greasy bun sitting alone face first in a buger"girl.

But anyway, hope Thanksgiving found all of you in a good binge-friendly kinda place. Before going to our big feast on Thursday night we joked about wearing loose clothing, having to unbutton our pants after dinner, making post-dinner bathroom trips, just the standard cliché holiday jokes. Well, Knox took these “jokes” a little too seriously apparently because before dinner was even over he had an official blow-out while still sitting at the table. If you have a baby, or have been around babies, you know what the term “blow-out” means. Gives the phrase “shit attack” an entire new meaning. Something tells me Knox might be the new “guy who shit at the Bar” guy in college. I mean if all goes well for him.

Well, just another Tuesday living the dream. I saw a special on Steve Jobs on the plane ride home, he said everyday he would look in the mirror upon getting up and ask himself, “if today was the last day of your life, are you really doing what you would want to be doing?” Thanks again Steve, thanks for making us all realize yet again how pathetic our lives are in comparison to the legacy you left behind. Someday I’m gonna answer yes. Yes I am.

26 days until Christmas. I'm already sad it's almost over.

Multi Tasking Mama

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Peace, Love and G&Ts

Cabo Greetings!

Hola Americanos! Officially three days into the annual Wolfe Holiday Cabo Trip and thus far everything is going swimmingly! Jordan and I have only fought once regarding his snoring, Jade has only thrown two fits about Knox having to sit in the back of the taxi and my mom has only made one snide remark to me regarding the fact I'm still living in sin! So far so good... Just loving life here in the land of the brown.

As an American, being in Mexico during the Thanksgiving season always makes me very thankful. It just really makes me think. It makes me think we should have stolen land from the Mexicanos rather than the Native Americanos hundreds of years ago. What in the hell was us crazy white folk thinking stealing land where a majority of it is warm only three-four months out of the year? It's just plain stupidity. Obviously Chris Columbo didn't do his research when choosing where to settle because no one in their right mind would have purposely chosen those nasty colonies on the cold east coast as opposed to Cabo. Wouldn't you rather look out your window during Thanksgiving dinner and catch a glimpse of a whale rather than a deer? I know I would, and I will because every mid November it's whale season down here and they're everywhere. You can barely cross the street without one darting right in front you, and where there's one whale there's always two more so you have to be extra careful. Those things will really put a dent in your boat.

So anyway, I put in a full day of laying out today and am as red as an alibino Mexican. My skin is hot to the touch. But you gotta do what you gotta do when you live in Chicago and the sun only shines on the third and seventh day of the month. And everybody knows a sunburn turns into a tan turns into a cancer. I need to come home from this trip with dark skin, white hair and a flat stomach to prolong my Winter Ugly Disorder which was already in full force before I left. I think my diet of Coronas and nachos is already working! But truthfully, we've just been doing a lot of at home drinking on account of the fussy little guy on the trip who has to be fed and changed every other hour. I don't know what Jordan's deal is lately. But it's for the best since nine-month-old Knox is along, as well. So we have nice long happy hours starting at noon that turn into meat and cheese trays at three and dinner by six. Then we after-dinner drink until we all get too buzzed and start bringing up things we shouldn't. Or maybe that's just me... Love the holidays. And I'll say Sandusky has followed me all the way to Cabo because just the other day as Jade was changing Knox out of his swim trunks I went to give him a good belly blow but caught myself halfway through because suddenly I felt like a huge pervert. Thanks for ruining bear hugs and belly blows for the rest of us, Sandusky. Would love to be a fly on the wall at that Thanksgiving tomorrow. Yikes!

But anywho, Chris finally joins the fun tomorrow, and Bill and Larissa join the fun today. Larissa is Jordan's new friend from South Carolina. Very excited to meet my brother's new friend. Especially when I know that he preps all of his new friend's by telling them he has two sisters they have to get by, "one is the nice one and one is the mean one." I'll let you guess who is who. But just for the record that's bullshit because I am nice to everyone- at first, it's only once I've known you for awhile when I start to make fun. And even then it's all just elbow jabs and knee slaps.

Well now my mom, Jade, and I are just enjoying a glass of champagne (all dressed in the same coverup and leggings outfit I might add) as we wait for Jordan and my dad to arrive from picking up Larissa from the airport. That's not weird though. If I were a new girlfriend meeting my bf's family for the first time I wouldn't think anything of it if his mom and two sisters were all dressed the same. Nothing at all.... Welcome to the family!

I've included a few pics from the trip thus far but won't post all of them, because like my mom so bluntly stated last night, "no one will buy the cow if you give away the milk for free."

If today was a 90s tshirt it would read- FRONT: Just another Monday... BACK: Not! Headed to Cabo!

Monday, November 21, 2011

This morning I shot straight up in bed thirty minutes before my alarm with that cold sweat, high anxiety thought, "oh my God, Kevin!" I hadn't even left for my trip yet and I was already thinking about things I had forgotten. Even though at only 2:30 a.m. I was way ahead of schedule, I thought it best I just get up and get going anyway. I'm not exactly fond of "cutting it close" when it comes to airport travel. "Cutting it close" to me is anytime under two hours. I seem to arrive earlier and earlier for my flights with each trip I take. I get so anxiety ridden with the thought of long check-in lines and long security lines and incompetent TSA staff I can barely keep myself from just sleeping at the airport the night before an early flight. Better to be safe than sodomized by the TSA.

In my defense, my neurotic early tendencies are simply the result of too many missed flights as a kid a'la Wolfe family vacations thanks to my "I need to strip the wallpaper and tear up the carpet and repaint the outside of the house and bake a six layer lasagna before we leave for every vacation-mom." I have far too many memories of literally running through the airport with my entire family trying to make a flight. And even though Run, Run, Rudolph was the soundtrack to these festive sprints and we had actually remembered to bring Kevin along on this trip, it was still always very stressful, never the less. 

Thus the reason I sit at the airport at 4:10 a.m., a little over two hours before my flight. But whatever, I like to arrive early. It gives me sufficient time to groan and huff in the check-in line, and then bitch about choosing the wrong security line and roll my eyes at the TSAssholes when they tell me to remove my scarf and shoes. I always limp through the security check like my precious bare feet have never touched something so filthy, little do they know I once had a case of planters worts so bad my feet probably should have been amputated. Ha! Jokes on you, airport floor and TSA. I'm so obviously kidding! I didn't have worts... Only gross poor kids in the second grade have worts. They're the same ones who have lice. 

So yeah. Only one quick flight to Denver and then a longer flight to Mexico stands between me and the sandy beaches of Cabo. I'm pretty excited to drink a Corona, eat some beans, have a high caloric mixed drink by the pool, buy some chicklits from the tiny brown hands of a child slave, maybe some fine silver, a painted lizard-trinket, burn my white winter skin, and repeat every day for the next seven days. If you're not jealous, you should be. I'm pretty fun on vacations. Alright, it's almost time to board and I need to grab a water because I think I can feel my stomach bleeding again.  But it's totally okay, the water pills for sure make me feel skinnier already. 

Natalie Holloway

Christmas in the City!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Note to self: Although very pretty in the winter, Navy Pier is a bit more tolerable in the summer time. Windy city= cold as shit at night.

Pinterest Is Online Heroine.

Pinterest is online heroine for girls. And homosexual young men, I can only assume. I need my fix even though I don't really need it at all. But I do need it. I need it in the morning, and at lunch, after work, at home, before bed. It's a sick cycle and I'm never left fulfilled, only wanting more.

We each have our own story as to how we stumbled upon this little drug. Mine being from one of my blog consultant's, Dannie, who told me other bloggers were doing it and finding success. I would be a fool not to at least experiment with it a bit. So I did. Just a little at first to see what the hype was all about. Scrolling through a few photos of home decor ideas. Then a few good recipes. And look at that scarf. Who makes those shoes? Oh my gosh I need that dress for New Years Eve and what a great hairstyle and how did she make that Christmas wreath? And are those really cupcakes and what a funny photo of that dog wrapped in Christmas lights! Is that a popcorn cake? My blood pressure is shooting through the roof, my pupils are dilated from staring at my computer screen for hours, I'm sleep deprived, but I can't stop. I need the Pinterest. And I need my official INVITE so I can start reppining. WhyTF hasn't it come yet? What do I have to do to get it, because you name it and I'll do it.

Chris wonders what this new drug is I'm addicted to. He's suddenly surprised to see me not creeping every night on Facebook. So how do you explain the site of Pinterst to a boy? "

Remember those collages you used to have to do in middle school? Like where you had to cut out examples from magazines of images that described you or things that you liked?...

'No, he doesn't remember those assignments because he probably had a girl do them for him. So I try again.

"Imagine a website you could get onto and find every article ever written about the Huskers, or all of your Fantasy updates, or clips from Man vs Wild, or quotes from Family Guy or photos of really big fish, or deer shot during hunting season or images of really delicious chicken wings or that whore Megan Fox."

He's listening. This is what Pinterest is like to girls. All of our favorite things in one place. It's ingenious. It's the best waste of time since Facebook. And those are strong words for me to say. The other cool thing about Pinterest is that it promotes blogs. Thus the reason Dannie recommended I check it out. You click on a photo and then are redirected to the blog that initially posted the photo. So here is where the DailyTay comes up short. Think of the photos I post... They're basically all of the Sanduskyer. Pinterest isn't exactly the type of site friendly to the Dusky photos, I can't imagine a lot of girls would repost them with the caption "So cute! I need this!." So this is where I have to step it up. More photos of less incriminating things. Like my illiterate coworker Tiffer once so rudely told me, "your blog has too many words, I only like to look at things." Tiffers also often makes us, Kirby (my other coworker) and I, read articles out loud to her at work, I think maybe she really can't read but is too embarrassed to say... But anyway, she might be on to something, people don't like to read anymore. And when they do, it's the bare minimum, Twitter updates anyone? And Pinterest is literally full of just images, with the exception of a few captions on SomeEcards.

I can't part with my words though. I'm old fashioned and still think we need them. But perhaps I should attempt at adding a few more photos. I mean, I'm not trying to sell out. I'm just trying to make some money, is that so wrong? All I want is to get paid to blog like every other sell-out writer. So if that means a few more images so be it. And I can't think of a better time to share the images I see everyday right now with my first Christmas in Chicago! And not to mention I leave for Cabo tomorrow morning for seven days. Boooo yah!!! Yeah I just "boo yah'd," haven't done that in ages. It just felt right.

"When I'm 25 I will..." a middle school assignment from 1999

Thursday, November 17, 2011

I recently uncovered this little gem, and boy am I glad I did. I can’t think of a better time in life to make a goal list than in middle school. The year in life when we are probably the most arrogant, naive, asshole forms of ourselves we will ever be. Great idea, Ms. Voss-Ward, great idea. Let’s see what my overly optimistic twelve year old-self had envisioned…

1. Compete in marathons. – I ran a 5K a couple of years ago, does that count? And marathons are overrated, I heard they make people who aren’t even pregnant go into labor.

2. Have a really cool job that I love where I get to travel and be my own boss. –a little more direction would be nice, dip shit. What will I be doing at this “really cool job?” Let me guess, writing notes all day that are covered in Lisa Frank stickers and then folding them up into really tight little triangle shapes.

3. Live in California or New York. – ridiculous. Folding notes would never pay enough to live in either of these citites.

4. Live in a cool house that I own. – makes statement 3 even more ridiculous. Or are you trying to tell me your predicted the low rate homes would be selling at in 2011? You have no concept for money, none. I can barely pay my rent every month, ease off.

5. Go on vacations to Africa and London. – This is a little broad. So you want to go to a city in England, and then visit the entire continent of Africa?

6. Play basketball every day. – yes, well, this one will go out the window right after high school after your heart was broken you never made it to state.

7. Be married and maybe have one kid. – let’s work on getting a boyfriend first, little one. You’re going to go through a pretty intense ugly stage in about six months. And the fact you play basketball everyday doesn’t help any.

8. Do a triathlon- what’s with all the not-so subtle workout hints?

9. Have one dog and one cat.- Starting to get a little more realistic, I like this. I must be getting tired from all of my traveling and exercising.

10. Have a lot money so I can buy whatever I want. –I’m sure what I had in mind was being able to buy unlimited packs of gum because in middle school gum was currency.

I’m glad the list stopped at ten. I’d hate to see what other demands that little dictator had in store for me…Maybe I do need to get my life in check. Especially if I plan to get to Africa in the next six months.

Happy 1/2 Bday to Me.

As of yesterday, I am officially over halfway to age twenty five. Why people get all upset and agitated over this mini milestone is beyond me. I can’t wait to be twenty five, it’s only five years away from thirty! Ten years away from forty. Life is just flying by, I’m practically fifty. I will say this, yesterday was definitely a half birthday to remember. I just wish I could. Unfortunately, I started time traveling around noon and before I knew it I was already back at work this morning, one day closer to twenty five. And feeling the pain of old age.

The fun started yesterday with a two hour lunch at Joes, a great seafood place by our work, not to be confused with Joes Crab Shack as I previously thought. I don’t pretend to forget where I came from. Anyway, three bottles of wine later my boss, a few coworkers and myself stepped out of the restaurant and couldn’t believe it was still daylight, let alone 2:30 p.m. It only felt right to walk across the street to the Conrad hotel for a few after-lunch drinks. Nobody wants to ruin a good buzz on a Wednesday afternoon. So we had some more drinks. A lot more.

So now things start to get fuzzy. Chris texts to see how work is going. I respond with “just hanging at a random hotel.” For some reason I think this to be a perfectly normal response, naturally, Chris doesn’t. “What, with who?” Again, I come back with something even better, “my boss.” Just to clarify, I was with three other girls and my boss, and we were drinking in the hotel bar. Looking back though, I can probably understand why Chris was a little confused/weired out. Pretty sure it’s around this time when I post my status as “happy ½ bday. Happy being drunk To me.” Well said, drunk self, well said. After the Conrad it’s still not dark outside, gotta keep going. So now we head to 437, a pretty nice steakhouse, a place probably not suitable for afternoon hammered people. We go in anyway, they’ve got an amazing meat and cheese platter we’re all jonesing for. I don’t remember getting stares or glares from the grey hairs eating their 4:30 p.m. steak dinners, but I can only imagine we had to have gotten a few as our booze tornado blew through the door and threw ourselves into a booth. We dived into the bread basket like we hadn't eaten in years, we were knee deep in oil and vinegar and fancy butters. After a few “flaming turkey asshole shots,” as I was calling them, things got real dark. I decided it was time to go home, it had been a long night. This was around 5:45 I’m told… I time traveled home, changed into the biggest sweat pants I could find, a very fancy peacoat, and finished the ensemble with some rain boots, of course. Then I ran, literally ran, the three blocks to the dog park to meet Chris and Har. I must have looked like quite the Sandusky sprinting through the intersection of Wrightwood and Lincoln.

What can you do, half birthdays only come around once a year. This was one of my better ones. Last year on my half bday, while dressed as a chef serving greasy teenagers in Peker, had someone told me that by next year I’d be daytime bar hopping in downtown Chicago I would have said oh hells. Life is funny. And getting older isn't that bad, then again nothing is when you have a drink in hand at 12:00 p.m. in the afternoon.

11/11/11 Make A Wish!

Friday, November 11, 2011

I wish it was 5:00.

I wish it was 11/11/05. I would be eating greasy dorm sausage and greasy dorm hashbrowns still drunk from the Thursday-Frosh the night before wondering which TV series I would watch all day until it was time to start priming for the night.

I wish we could actually have the job we were “promised” when growing up. I would still love to be an Olympic gymnast hanging out with my friends the zoologist, ballerina and ninja.

I wish I still got student loans so I could have an endless supply of money to spend on nonsense things like sporadic trips to KU to drink illegally at the Hawk and frequent trips to Von Maur to buy a new shirt to wear to the Hawk.

I wish the Huskers still played at KU. Mmm Wheel pizza. Mmm Lazzaris.

I wish Suh was my half brother.

I wish Kim Kardashian would marry Jerry Sandusky.

I wish I could invent something great. Like Facebook. Or Shamwow. Or Crocs. Or the jewels that go into Crocks.

I wish people didn’t still wear Crocks. A shoe that is worn by people aged 3 months-99 years can’t be good.

I wish my college life would move to Chicago.

I wish I knew if internet usage is really monitored…

I wish I knew how many people posted their status as “11:11 on 11/11/11” today.

I wish I knew why "Whitney" is taped in front of a live student audience.

I wish I knew why people text one minute and then don’t answer when you call them 30 seconds later.

I wish I could accept the fact college is over and so is everything that goes with it like free money, free booze, free fun, free days off, free vacations, free parties, free Union food, freeDOM. And now I’m paying the $400 bill for it every month for the next ten years.

I wish the water cooler was full of Husker Punch.

I wish the water cooler was full of Bisonwitch spinach dip.

I wish I could be as comfortable in short jean shorts as the Bisonwitch waitresses are.

I wish people didn’t still say “water cooler talk.” No one talks at the water cooler.

I wish I knew why people get so mad when I call them and they can’t hear me. It’s not like I’m trying to have bad cell service.

I wish I could figure out why/how white trash people manage to transfer their white trash vocab onto Facebook. “wut yer sayin abt dat shit aint gon chan how u be aktin.” We were in the same typing class in middle school, how did this happen.

I wish Facebook was still only for major University students.

I wish beer would come in 10 calorie packets you could pour into your water at work.

I wish I knew how people wished Veterans a Happy Veteran Day before Facebook? No way in person… that’d be too weird.

I wish Tim Tebow would start a prayer group for Penn State.

I wish Penn State would start a prayer group for Tim Tebow.

I wish I knew why the kid from Ladybugs hung himself. Did he know Sandusky?

I wish I knew what happened to Jon Benet. Did she know Sandusky?

I wish I knew why Ke$ha is famous. Does she know Sandusky?

I wish I knew why FastBreak's aren't more prevalent in the candy world.

I wish is was 5:00 p.m. ALL. THE. TIME.

What the Sandusky is going on?!

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Today’s been a Sandusky kinda day. A little bit dreary and gray, a little bit molester and abusive. Am I the only creepo who read the entire grand court testimony? I hope so. Because after reading that I’m nervous I might have to register myself somewhere as a child molester because that shit was explicit. Yikes. I don’t even know what to say, besides the fact that Sandusky should be locked away in a prison where big scary men can Sandusky the shit out of him for the next ten years. See how he likes it. And how dare the students at Penn State actually riot and be angry their head coach was fired. Paterno knew the kind of Sanduskys that were going on right under his nose for over ten years and yet he did nothing. Disgusting. He is as guilty of Sanduskying as Sandusky is, if you ask me. The worst part is that all of this Sanduskying was going on in public places. The locker room, the shower, the wresting room, Sandusky was Sanduskying all over the walls and floor of that University. What the Sandusky was Penn State thinking? They’d just let Sandusky, Sandusky the hell out of these innocent little boys because they didn’t want to deal with it? Or they didn’t want the controversy? What was it? What was worth torturing the lives of so many young children not only then, but most definitely into their adult lives as well. It’s just awful, really pisses the Sandusky out of me.

The second part of this story which is yet to break- officially. And I’ll be the first to say I hope to the good non-child molesting Lord (sorry Father Mark, I know you have your own opinions on this one) it’s not true. Rumor on the Sandusky street is that Sandusky was pimping out other young boys in his little child porn club to an array of old perverts at Penn State, some might also refer to them as “high rolling alumni.” I call them “high rolling Sanduskyers.” This would just be too much, the straw that broke the old man’s sack. I just hope Liam Neeson doesn’t get wind of this. Because believe you me, he’ll bust in that little sex circle in no time and Sandusky the hell out of those perverts until they truly understand the meaning of the word Sandusky. “Good luck,” perverts. Good luck.

I don't know. I just can't think about it anymore, it's so sickening it makes me Sandusky for a drink. I just hope the Huskers can play a good game on Saturday and show Penn State the right way to do things. Without a coaching staff who supports Sanduskying. So GBR. Let's win this not only for Husker fans, but also for every person affected by Sandusky Sanduskying his sick self around that Sandusky campus.


If it aint broke...

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

And we're back. Like my old high school pal used to say when asked why she never went to the female doctor to at least get a check up, "if it aint broke, don't fix it." You know who you are.

It's not that I didn't like the new site I tried out for a day, because really I did. All of the pretty gadgets and whistles and bells and fonts. It was exciting. But then I realized it was just too much too fast I thought. While I was very intrigued by the possibilities available on Tumblr, it was missing a few key elements (followers.) After speaking with my blog consultant, Kenz, I decided it might be for the best if rather than jumping ship on blogger, I should stay awhile and perhaps just fancy up this site instead. I mean it took me a good two years to actually get 69 of you to finally click "follow," I can't go back on that now. So this would be a good chance for those silent readers out there to make yourself known, as well. Or not. Or yes.

My other problem is I get weirdly attached to things. So as I clicked post on Tumblr, and left behind this site, I felt really bad about it. Like I was leaving behind a ratty old friend to upgrade to a new, cooler friend. I felt the same feeling I had when I would stop playing with a certain toy when I was younger. Like how Jessy the Cowgirl felt when her owner left her for makeup. Or how Sid's tortured toys felt when he left them to smoke pot. It took me a good five years to fully believe my toys didn't actually have feelings and it was not necessary to at least say hello to everyone of them before high school. Good thing I got over that... American Girl Dolls don't count, I still think it's polite to touch base with Samantha and Olivia every now and again when I go home.

So we're out with old, in with the old. Somethings are just better left as are. Although I hope you notice a few saucy changes I've tried to implement. Please judge me lightly though as colors and designs and frilly templates aren't my thing. I'll keep improving. Or maybe I'll just get over this whole improvement phase by next week. Who knows.

A letter to Naked Gym Lady.

Hey, how’s it goin? Good… Good. 
So uh, we usually get ready in the locker room together every morning. 
I’m the blonde who stands next to you and sweats profusely 
as I blow dry my hair and sometimes have to hold up my 
shaky, weak arm as I apply eyeliner (damn pushups!) 
I also stand in a towel, sometimes two, 
and if either one happens to even slip a little I freak out like a child in the Penn State locker room.
I know we’re all women in the locker room, 
and maybe it’s because you’re just from a different generation than me, 
but I, how do I say this… 
Sometimes your naked wrinkly skin makes me a little uncomfortable. 
This isn’t an OBGYN office, certain body parts still make me blush. 
Even if those body parts appear to be hidden in various tucks and flaps of skin
 that I don't yet have at my youthful age,
 I still know they're there, and that freaks me out. 
Maybe I’m just being modest, which I am, 
but when you bend over to apply lotion or clip your toenails,
 or whatever the hell it is you’re doing down there for long periods of time, 
I get very nervous to turn around. 
I keep my eyes fixated straight ahead, 
nervous they might burn out of my sockets if I happen to see what’s lurking behind. 
Or in front… So you got a perm, that’s awesome. 
You like SoulGlo, even better. 
But is it necessary to walk to and from your locker five different times 
passing in front of every mirror possible so all angles are exposed? 
I can’t get ready if I have to keep my eyes closed. 
You’re comfortable with your body, I get that.
 But the problem is that I’m not. 
In your prime, (30+ years ago?) I bet your fun bags were quite the hit. 
But now your fun bags just hit. 
The counter top, your stomach, the sink, me if you pass by moving too quickly… 
So get those things under control. 
Wear a bra, tape them up, get a frontal baby carrier sling. 
I don’t know, just keep them away from me.
 Those nipples belong on the Discovery Channel and it scares the shit out of me. 
They’re just one strip of blue paint away from being given to Jewish children as dreidels. 
Let’s work together on this one and respect each other. 
You cover up a little, and I’ll stop avoiding eye contact with you. 
We can make this locker room a comfortable place for people of all ages. 
Except kids. Let's keep them in the daycare where they belong. 
But yeah, this is great! See you tomorrow morning!

Happy Holidays from the Anthony Household!

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

For future reference, should you ever find yourself in a similar situation: It is NOT okay to prescribe a celebrity drugs. Even if they assure you they absolutely need the pills to improve their health and overall quality of life. Even if it’s them who have sought you out, and then continue to take the pills on their own free will. Because if they die, you will be charged with manslaughter. As well as the death of pop.

However, now here’s the little loophole, if you dress that celebrity up as your daughter, and make her “dissappear” for a few months without reporting it but continue to party and work at your fake MGM job, then when the body is discovered you claim you were raped and abused and therefore it was an accidental drowning, you’re pretty much good to go. The system works if you work it.

19 Kids and Counting.

I’m giving myself only one minute to get out all of my thoughts about this “situation.”

*At what point does she stop seeing a doctor, and instead see a vet? I hope that was at least four Duggars ago.

*Where does she purchase six nipple bras?

*Why do I feel like this fetus is picketting for an abortion?

*Does the blackhole match the curtains?

*Nucky called, Mrs. Shroeder wants her hairstyle back.

*Elephant called, wants its vagina back.

*Westboro called, wants it congregation back.

*If it’s a girl, does it come out wearing an ankle length jean skirt?

*If it’s a boy, does it come out wearing an ankle length jean skirt?

*Does her water break? Or just consistently leak for nine months?

*When are the P.A.U.A. going to throw red paint on her stomach? (People Against Uterus Abuse)

*Is canal even the appropriate word anymore?

*If a fetus falls in Michelle’s forest and no one is around to hear it… Does Jim Bob still make a sound?

*Possible J names: Javier, Janet, Justin Bieber… Oh no, he’s not the? No… That wouldn’t be right.

I’m done.

Things 20somethings hate about Mondays.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Besides everything? How about the fact that sometimes my Monday starts before I have even gotten up. I have so much dread/anxiety for the start of a new work week that I often find myself involved in bizarre work fiasco-dreams ranging from having to fix a mistake on our computer sales program before the building blows up, to getting trapped in my desk drawer and dying from lack of air. I don't go to sleep to have to solve problems. It's such bull shit,sleep is supposed to be my time to win awards for flying over oceans and rekindling old friendships with people I haven't seen since grade school while sitting in a living room I've never been to. The only resolution I get is when I wake up, and that's just the time the real nightmare begins. I lie in my warm bed trying to come up with any logical reason why I should miss work. I'm too cold. Too tired. I'm depressed. It's too dark. My neck hurts. I have mono. I have Aids. I have to get up. Kill me. And so Monday begins.

The Monday morning ritual is awful. The warm shower is as possessive as my warm bed. My oatmeal is missing bacon and hashbrowns. And my work clothes always fit extra tight on this day. Black work pants that should fit slightly loose suddenly become borderline inappropriate pants I have to continually pull off my waist so they don't start clinging to certain frontal areas they shouldn't. I spend my entire morning dying of hunger due to the fact I've stretched my stomach to the likeliness of a Biggest Loser contestant over the course of the weekend from mass amounts of beer and pizza. Deep dish is the devil. But all I can do is drink cup after cup of coffee to keep my hunger at bay because every Monday I start "a new life." A new life of disgusting healthy food, working out, and being completely over it by usually Tuesday night. So my Mondays are spent hungry and extremely jittery.

The other thing I love about Monday is that it's the gift that keeps on giving. TV shows are bad, Dancing With the Stars, really? If Chaz Bono is a star then I'm a transgender. Facebook updates are less than impressive. The Huskers lost, get over it. Human traffic is everywhere, the train, the streets, the elevator. Bad attitudes are in full force. And all talk revolves around the weather, the fact it's Monday, and the economy. What people would talk about if not for these three things is beyond me.

It's time for Tuesday right meow.

Things 20somethings Look Forward to on Friday

Friday, November 4, 2011

1. Your couch. Well, I mean my couch at least. By Friday I’m usually so hungover from weekday happy hours that all I want to do by the end of the day is lay on my couch with a bag of chips and a good TV show. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a good TV show, reruns of basically anything will suffice (Family Guy, Two and Half Men, Suite Life of Zach and Cody,ext ). And the sad thing is that my happy hours don’t last past 9:00 p.m., 9:30 maybe if it’s a real wild night, and yet I still wake up hungover. It’s like I’m old or something. College-me would think I’m so pathetic.

2. Casual Day! It’s depressing how excited I am every Friday when I get to wake up and put on JEANS! Jeans in the office?! You betcha. It feels so wrong it has to be right. I’ll admit, I was a bit taken back at first when I saw my coworkers in jeans rather than office attire, it was like seeing a teacher in public. But now I’m completely used to it and look forward to seeing what they choose as their casual attire to express their own personal style. You can tell a lot about someone by what they choose to wear on a Friday.

3. Not having to wake up early tomorrow. Hands down, every single Friday morning I drag my ass out of bed I think to myself, “I’m sleeping in forever tomorrow.” And this little thought motivates me to get up, shower (kidding) and get ready in hopes Saturday is lurking close by. But the sick joke is that every Saturday I wake up by 8:00 a.m. anyway. Thanks internal alarm clock, you’re a real asshole.

4. Splurging on lunch. By Friday I am so sick of all of my nasty salads and lunch meat and frozen food in the office fridge I typically splurge and let myself go out to eat. Sushi? Soup and dare I say sandwich? Pizza even oh my! The possibilities are endless on a Friday when I’ve got the hungover munchies and feel the need to eat all day long just to keep myself from going coo coo.

5. Staring out my window. On Fridays I tend to give myself a little extra day dream time where I just sit and look out my window for moments on end letting my mind go wild on anything I want. Sometimes I think about flying, or vacations, or peanut butter cookies, Selena and Justin, being a pop star, if my kid will be a pop star, if I can stop chewing my nails someday how pretty they’d be, if the people in the building across the river are looking at me, what their job is, do they like their job, what if Judd Apatow asked me to join his writing team, is Justin really a baby daddy, I hope not.

6. Not hearing the song “And if I Die Young” on the radio. So far so good… I swear to God if I can get through this workday without hearing that song I might celebrate by listening to “Party Rock” the whole way home. And then I shall jump in front of a train.

7. Drinking. By late afternoon I’m done being hungover and I’m ready for a drink. Or four. I’ll be realistic and know that after two or three drinks I’m going to be pretty damn tired and will want my couch again. So I’m not going to show off here and say I want ten drinks. A crowded loud bar sounds awful. Three or four drinks is just what I would need to get a little buzz, let my self control go so I can binge on French fries and a burger and then make my way home to my couch and probably be sound asleep by 11. I’m not boring, I’m worked. Screw you.

8. 5:00. I look forward to this more than the homeless people look forward to a Sharpie. More than Zoey Deschanel looks forward to lisping, or Kris Humphries releasing his honeymoon tape, or my coworker talking to her nine different friends a day telling the same dramatic story time after time. 5:00 is all I wait for. I need it. I need my 5:00 fix.